Pitchfork

In the photo-negative world of indie rock morality, Christmas might be the most obscene concept possible, combining as it does the taboos of family, Christianity, commerce, and happiness. Sufjan Stevens, then, is something like the bizarro G.G. Allin, unabashedly reveling in the glory of Christmas with such warmth it pretty much obliterates the word "irony" from the English language. And now, the boxset Songs for Christmas, collecting five EPs of seasonal music recorded over the last five years, represents the songwriter's ultimate obscenity to date, even down to titling each disc with scenester swears: Noel, Hark!, Ding! Dong!, Joy, and Peace.

Yet for all the squirming induced by Stevens' brazen faith, the talents that elevate him above your run-of-the-mill coffee-shop folkie are crucially linked to the characteristics that inform his faith: empathy, optimism, and a love of ceremonial pomp. Not coincidentally, all of these qualities are to be found, as well, in the best Christmas songs, with their exultant melodies and earnest words, and it's no great detective work to hear their influence on Stevens' own songbook, secular and otherwise. Better still, Yuletide classics have proven through exhaustive interpretation to be highly malleable, suited for portrayals either stirringly intimate (think Vince Guaraldi) or triumphantly gaudy (think Boston Pops)-- two modes of arrangement in which Sufjan has proven himself well versed.

But Sufjan didn't metamorphize from open-mic strummer to chamber-pop bandleader overnight, and that progression is nicely documented by Songs for Christmas. The first EP, recorded way back in December 2001, shows a simpler, folksier Stevens, assembling a circle of friends to casually dash off seven songs of banjo-plucking and broken harmonies. Twelve months later, on the second disc, the singer has already begun to spread his clip-on angel wings, most notably on a nearly seven-minute long version of "What Child is This?" led by a tweaked Rhodes to an early version of the choral peaks he would perfect with Illinois.

In some ways, the mission of recording a Christmas EP every year is almost as conceptually audacious as Stevens' Fifty States Project, given how few seasonal songs are worthy of interpretation. Thus, Songs for Christmas contains a lot of repetition, another method by which to chart the progress of Sufjan as performer and arranger. For instance, you won't be surprised to find the melancholy "O Come O Come Emmanuel" appearing three times in this box, but each version at least attempts variety: A recorder and banjo Ren-fair take, and two solo piano versions (separated by three years) that are testimony to Stevens' development as a producer. Similarly, "Once in Royal David's City", obscure enough to be a hymnal B-side, is transformed from a fireside jam session on the first disc into a gorgeous reverb-laden music-box variation on the fifth.

Stevens also fleshes out the set with a hefty helping of exclamation-point-laden original songs, 17 in all; although none of them are likely to make it into the caroling repertoire anytime soon, the set mostly reveals that Stevens' arrangement skills to have evolved more rapidly than his composition talents. Early efforts are either ragged or strangely depressing in the Guaraldi vein, like the Danielson-sounding "It's Christmas! Let's Be Glad!" or the more resurrection-focused tracks (wrong holiday?) of the third EP. But by the last two discs, the songwriter finds more success in being less reverent, with the Pixies dynamics of "It's Christmas Time!" or the goofy Boston-derived organ and handclap charm of "Get Behind Me, Santa!" more in the spirit of the holiday. The fifth disc also excels through appropriate application of the ultra-lush sound of Illinois to December themes, with "Sister Winter" and "Star of Wonder" ranking alongside his non-holiday catalog's highlights.

These moments of thick orchestration may be sufficient for the box to sneak into the parents' Christmas music rotation, allowing Stevens to give the greatest gift of all: momentary relief from Mannheim Steamroller. They also chart a path that's been both rewarding and troubling in Sufjan's career, a progression towards larger and larger arrangements that's beginning to move beyond refreshingly ambitious to redundancy. But in the service of Christmas, the one time of year where it's okay for even sad hipsters to enjoy excess and earnest feeling, Stevens' ornamentation is excusable, and more consistently successful than the set's earlier, humbler moments, proving that if you're going to commit indie blasphemy, you might as well go all the way.